


Cover Me

by stellarmeadow



Series: Season 3 codas/missing scenes [13]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Coda, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M, coda 315 Hookman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmeadow/pseuds/stellarmeadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Danny, winding down and musing over life. Or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Me

**Author's Note:**

> My mind is still reeling with all the ways this could've gone post episode, so here's a second, different coda. Think of it as the alternate ending on the DVDs? :)
> 
> ~~~

It felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. Steve couldn't help touching it as he watched the last of the sun fade into the ocean, taking a rainbow with it. The smooth metal was warm from his body heat, only the engraved letters marring its perfect surface.

He hadn't even realized he'd taken it at first, coming down off the adrenaline rush and still wondering at what he'd seen, three dead men offering him thanks. His father, shaking his hand, saying he was proud of him. All he could want in a son.

He'd been shaken by the idea, whether it was only in his head or not.

He fingered the bullet again, 'McGarrett' only recognizable if you knew what it said, and yet he'd never forget the feel of it etched into the metal after this. One more bullet meant for his father, redirected at his head instead.

The ground had been littered with bullets with 'McGarrett' on them, but he'd only taken one of the ones yet to be fired. Even he could see the symbolism was almost comical in its accuracy, no matter how obtuse Danny accused him of being.

"That your hand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Danny asked.

Steve looked up as Danny approached, stuffing his cell phone in his pocket before he sat down in the chair next to Steve. "Funny," he said. "How's Grace?"

"Very excited about the aquarium on Saturday." Danny took a drink of the beer he'd left behind when he'd gone off to talk to Grace. "I did not tell her Uncle Steve was an idiot, in case you were wondering. Though maybe if I did, she might actually be able to get through to you on the concept of cover and acceptable risk, since _I_ apparently cannot."

Steve gave him a sideways grin. "It's nice that you were so worried."

"I wasn't worried."

"Concerned, then."

Danny shook his head. "Wasn't concerned," he said. "I was rooting for the shooter, frankly. Not to kill you, mind," he clarified, holding up his hand. "Just a nice, non-lethal bullet that might shoot some sense into you."

"It means so much to me that you care, Danny," Steve deadpanned. Because he could protest all he wanted, but Steve had a Danny Williams translation filter, and every annoyed comment passing through it that day had translated into an increasing amount of concern for Steve's well-being.

Danny just rolled his eyes, then looked down, focusing on Steve's pocket. "So what's in the pocket?" he asked. "Or is your hand doing something else that you should really be doing under cover?"

"You're not going to let that go anytime soon are you?"

"Nope. And you're avoiding my question."

"I'm not." Steve pulled out the bullet, holding it out so Danny could see. "It's from Stoner's mag," he said, as Danny took the bullet. "I didn't even realize I'd taken it at first." He thought about telling Danny about seeing his father, but decided Danny might just be looking for a reason to have him hauled in front of a shrink right now, so maybe that wasn't the best idea. 

Danny looked at the bullet, turning it over between his fingers and running a fingertip over the engraving. "Only you," he said, his laugh making it clear that wasn't a good thing. "Only you could actually get into a situation where you have a guy after you with a mag full of bullets with your name on them-- _literally_ \--and you're still alive."

"My father's name," Steve said softly.

Danny looked up sharply, and Steve silently cursed. Danny didn't miss much. "'You will pay for your father's sins,'" Danny said.

Steve froze. "What?"

"You think I didn't see the picture in Stoner's place?" Danny shook his head. "I thought you had better respect for my skills than that."

"Maybe it was just wishful thinking."

Danny handed the bullet back to Steve. "Just because I don't say anything," Danny said carefully, "doesn't mean I don't _see_ things."

"Like what?"

"Like you, going all gung ho on any case that even remotely reminds you of him," Danny said. "And getting obsessive to the point where I'm having nightmares about finding your dead body in the back of a truck in some jungle when the case is _about_ him. Or about your mother."

Steve stared at the name on the bullet for a long moment before looking up through his lashes at Danny. "It's my name," he said. "It's my family. That makes it my responsibility."

"It's not your responsibility to die for anything they did," Danny said quickly, eyes intense. "Honor them, honor your dad's memory, whatever, but he'd be the _first_ one to tell you not to die for something he did." He took a breath. "As a father, I promise you, he would tell you that. Otherwise he wouldn't have sent you away when you were a kid and kept all those things from you."

"He also left the Champ box behind for me to carry on with his work."

"Or maybe to give you a heads up that people might be coming for you. It might've been the only way he could warn you."

"He knew me," Steve said. "He'd have known I couldn't resist the puzzle."

Danny shrugged. "Maybe he did leave that behind for you to figure out, then," he said. "I don't know. But I know one thing--no father who loved his kids as much as your dad must've, and yet gave them up for their safety, wants them to die at all, let alone die for something he did."

He had a point. Steve wasn't sure if it was a valid one, but it was a point. "I don't know," he said, because it was the truth, and it was all he had to offer. "And there's this thing with Mom," he added. "What, am I just not supposed to pursue that because it's dangerous?"

"Nobody said not to pursue it," Danny said. "We're cops. This is what we do. We investigate." He put his hand on Steve's forearm. "You want the truth. That's great. I gotta admit, after all we've gone through on this, I want the truth, too. But," he added, fingers sliding along Steve's arm, giving him goose bumps, "think about this. Your dad died not knowing the truth. You want the truth, you need to still be alive when we find it."

Maybe that was it. Maybe his Dad had left him the clues hoping he'd be smarter about it. That he'd have outside resources and not be stuck in the middle of it the way his Dad had been. "I get that."

"Do you?"

Steve swallowed under Danny's knowing gaze. "I do. I really do. I just...I'm trained to act."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "You're gonna tell me that in the Navy you'd have just run in like a maniac with reinforcements on the way who would've put less lives in danger, with greater numbers and equipment, than you running around like a madman?"

"Danny--"

"No, seriously, you're actually going with that? Because I don't think you'd have made it past private without respecting the command and abilities of others instead of being John Wayne."

"Seaman."

"What?"

Steve gave a soft laugh. "It's not a private in the Navy, it's a seaman."

"There's a joke in there."

"Not one I haven't heard before," Steve said. "And anyway, I graduated Annapolis an ensign. I've never been a seaman."

Danny's look clearly said he didn't care. "And you'd still be an ensign--or worse--if you hadn't understood on some level how the concept of waiting for the specialists works."

"Danny, I'm a SEAL. We _are_ the specialists."

"Really? Because I didn't see you disarming those terrorist bombs."

"Of course not. But when it comes to warfare--taking down someone shooting from a house, for example, or drawing fire while a sniper takes out a threat, that's what we do. _We're_ the guys they call in. You get that? Because we do it better than anyone else, and with less bloodshed for the good guys."

Danny sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Steve missed the warmth of his hand. "And you did that in teams, wearing like a hundred pounds of protective gear, yeah?"

"Most of the time."

"What were you wearing today when you smoked that crazy fucker out of the house?"

Steve blinked. "A t-shirt and pants."

"A t-shirt and _white_ pants. White. Highly visible. No camouflage there, Steven." He sighed. "Would any of that have gotten you anywhere in the Navy?"

"Under fire and with no time to lose? Hell, yeah, it would've."

Danny shook his head, withdrawing to the corner of his chair. "You're hopeless."

"Okay," Steve said, because if Danny ever actually branded him a lost cause he wasn't quite sure what he'd do. "I can see your point."

"Really? Or are you just saying that to avoid sleeping on the couch?"

"No, Danny, I can see your point." Steve leaned across the table, careful not to knock over the bottles, and grabbed Danny's hand, pulling him a little closer. "Why do you think I was so mad at you for running out into the street?"

"I don't know, maybe because you think I'm not as good at my job?"

Steve blinked. That was the last thing he thought. "No, because I don't want anything to happen to you, either." He rubbed his thumb over the back of Danny's hand. "I get where this is coming from," Steve said, "because I'm in the same place. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"At least you've figured that much out," Danny muttered.

"Okay," Steve said. "I'll stop protecting you, if you stop protecting me." At Danny's momentary look of alarm, Steve laughed. "See? Not that easy, is it?"

"All right, I kind of see your point," Danny admitted, and Steve could see some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. "Though frankly, protecting you is a much busier job. One might almost say full-time."

Steve laughed. "Just cover me," he said. "That's all I ask. I wouldn't be able to run out in front of the bullets if I didn't know you were covering my ass."

"There's a joke somewhere there, too."

He laughed again. "Tell you what," he said. "Let's go upstairs and see if you can find it before I can get you undressed."

"That's not fair," Danny replied. "I won't have an adequate supply of blood to my brain."

"Oh and there's definitely a joke there."

"Find it and you really will be on the couch."

"Yes, sir," Steve said, standing, pulling Danny up with him. "Any other orders, sir?"

Danny seemed to consider that for a moment. "Yeah, but they involve you being upstairs. And shirtless."

"Not naked?"

"Not just yet," Danny said, rubbing a hand over Steve's ass and giving him a little push towards the back door. "Because seriously, I've had a number of thoughts about these pants today, and I'm looking forward to acting on a few of them."

Steve laughed, realizing that happened a hell of a lot more since he'd met Danny. "Can't wait."

\---

END

**Author's Note:**

> Want to learn more about me and my writing? Visit my page at <http://www.jamiemeadowswrites.com/>


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